


Liquor Store Blues

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Schmoop, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-08-06
Updated: 2013-01-11
Packaged: 2017-11-11 13:12:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/478915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's slipping into a funk over everything they've been through and struggles to deal with it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Set before 7.17, I guess. Sam is still dealing with Hallucifer.

Drinking comes with the territory when you’re a hunter. Physical pain, emotional pain, victories, defeats; they all come with a shot or three. But watching Sam struggle with Lucifer? To see him stiffen up mid stride, or to hear his quiet pleading whispers in the Impala... Dean has never drunk so heavily in his life. 

He needs the haze to get through the day. Never drunk enough to affect his job performance. Just buzzed enough to cope with the constantly pained and terrified look on Sam’s face. As badly as he wants to help him, he just doesn’t know how. So he seeks comfort in a bottle. Cheap swill that tastes like nothing but burn and sting, even the occasional bottle of girly wine that makes him wobble like a child’s toy. All the while hoping Sam won’t notice. And he doesn’t. Not for awhile anyway. Weeks go by before Sam starts to puck up on it. A couple more beers per night, a few drinks while he’s driving, more empties rattling around the back seat than normal. 

“You’ve been drinking.” Sam’s eyebrows are pulled together tightly in concern. He dips his head a little bit, putting on his best “I’m the innocent little brother you watch out for, so tell me the fucking truth or I’ll punch you in the kidney” face.

Dean rolls his eyes, tilting the mostly empty bottle and taking a swig. The road stretches before them, straight into the horizon. He says nothing. Sam turns to the window and doesn’t push the matter. They drive in silence as the hours melt into each other.

They stop late at night, grabbing the first hotel room they come across. It’s sleazy and rundown, just the way they like them. A vague nautical theme, with anchors painted on the walls and a roughly drawn sailboat in the bathroom. They share a bottle of whiskey even though they're arguing. 

“How can you be so reckless, Dean? You almost get yourself killed on every single hunt, and I swear it’s like you WANT it to happen!” Sam is almost hysterical thinking of the way his brother will use himself as live bait to get to monsters. Taunting them. Mocking them. Just begging, pleading to get gutted by a set of razor sharp claws. 

“And how can you still be alive with how careful you are? You hesitate before checking rooms, you procrastinate on going after monsters until you’ve done twice as much research as you need to, and you insist we bring way too much with us. How can we be effective when you’re having us carry the entire arsenal on our backs? These things move fast, Sammy. No time to think. You only have time to act.” Dean’s words drip with resentment as he takes an extra large gulp from the bottle. Sam purses his lips and then looks at the floor. 

“It’s Lucifer. He won’t leave me alone. Sometimes I have to take a couple seconds to push him away and ignore him. But that’s not my fault, okay? I didn’t ask for this. You have no idea what it’s like dealing with the mess up here.” He’s pointing to his head, a finger tapping angrily against his temple. With each tap, Dean’s guilt grows bigger and deeper. He’s right; he doesn’t know what it’s like. And he can’t know. He couldn’t prevent it either. Couldn’t keep his brother safe. That was his one job and he dropped the ball.

The weight of his expectations and the world on his shoulders is suffocating, so he grabs his jacket and is gone. Sam is left alone and angry in the hotel as Dean fades into the night. 

He feels the need to drink more, so he finds the closest bar and takes up residence. A woman, barely dressed and moderately buzzed, attaches herself to his side. 

"Well, lookie here. I ain't seen you before. I'd like to see more." She grabs at his shirt and tries to pull it up. He gives her a quick once over and raises an eyebrow. She's not bad looking. A bottle blonde in need of a touch up, but she pulls it off fairly well. Brown eyes, doe-like and slightly unfocused, rove unabashedly over his body. He knows her type well, and knows he'll be another notch in her bed post. He gives her a quick grin and leans ever so slightly into her. 

"What's your name, sweetheart? Care to join me for some drinks? My treat." The way he licks his lower lip after the word 'treat' sends a shiver down her spine. She's still been around long enough to know when a man is trying to distract himself. That's okay, though. She's good at distractitrons.

"I'm Candi. And I drink my bourbon neat." This earns her another grin as Dean signals the bartender and orders. 

"A bourbon girl, eh? I think I like you." She leans in close to his ear and chuckles softly.

"I like the smokiness and the way it goes down." She swings across to his right side, trailing her hand behind his neck as she does. Softly whispered words and a ghost of a touch. They're two masters of the same game, and neither is sure who'll get played tonight. 

A couple shots later and they both leaning heavily into each other, laughing over a joke only booze could make funny. She trails a hand up his leg and bites her lip slightly, still smiling.

"So... your place or mine." She hasn't asked him a question; she's made a move in the game. Dean's smile fades ever so slightly, but he drops his eyes a bit and plays up the charm. 

"Eager, aren't ya? My room's just up the street." He tosses a few bills onto the bar and steers Candi out the door. His hand splays out across the small of her back, fingertips stroking ever so slightly as she adds a little extra sway in her hips. They get back to the hotel and Dean realizes that Sam is still there around the same time he's opening the door with full bitch face.

"Well then. Guess I'll just be leaving if you have better things to do. I have a FRIEND waiting for me anyway." Sam glares daggers at Dean, knowing the jab about Lucifer will get him in trouble later. He has the keys to the Impala in his hand as he brushes past.

"Sam! Don't be such a..." He's cut off by Candi staring at him. 

"I didn't know there was more than just you. Any other surprises?" She says it while trailing a hand down his chest, but he pushes her away and walks into the room. 

"Go back to the bar." He shuts the door with a soft click, leaving them both unhappy and confused. She kicks the door and walks off with a swear or two as Dean sulks. Why did he bring her back here? He wasn't drunk enough to have forgotten that Sam was here. While he may have been looking for a distraction, it didn’t last long. As soon as he was faced with his life again, he just felt like drinking more and being alone. Luckily, there was still a half full bottle sitting on the table. Enough to get suitably plastered for the evening. Grabbing the bottle and settling on his bed, he stares at the wall as his earlier guilt creeps back in and sinks into his bones. There was no helping Sam. There was no saving Sam. He could only hope he was strong enough to fight Lucifer on his own. At least Dean could help with everything else. The real flesh and blood demons were the easy part. Keeping Sam sane was going to be the hard part. 

He tilts the bottle on its end and drains it before slumping back into the bedding. Dean dreams of a forest, mossy and green and full of trails branching out like a spider’s web.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took a couple days longer than it should have to write, but at least it's done now! We also get our first mentions of Wincest in this chapter! Yaaay!

Dean almost crashes the Impala when Sam starts screaming and flailing. He’s wiping his hands roughly up and down his arms. All the while screaming about fire and pleading with Lucifer. Dean’s never heard or seen him react this strongly. Normally, he just quietly asks Lucifer to go away or makes small movements at random. Like he’s swatting at a small, annoying fly. The tires squeal and gravel flies as Dean slams the car to a halt on the side of the road. He reaches over to try and comfort Sam, but of course Lucifer won’t let that happen. As soon as his hand touches his shoulder, Sam starts convulsing. His back arches so far that it starts cracking and popping in an obscene way. He strains against the seat belt, the webbing creaking under the pressure. Dean’s quick to hit the release, and Sam surges forward. Tucks his body down between his legs and lets loose an animalistic scream. Dean reaches over, tries to pull his brother against him, but Sam just keeps yelling and screaming. He’s all fists and nails and gnashing teeth. Dean’s getting tore up pretty bad, but he doesn’t care. He sifts through the terrified violence and just forces his brother against him, holding him tightly and trying to pin his arms down at the same time. Sam continues to scream and fight for a few minutes before finally calming down. He’s breathing hard, sweating, and his eyes are glazed over. Without thinking, Dean brushes his hair away and softly kisses his forehead. He allows his fingers to linger on the side of his face before letting go. He slumps against the door, curling in on himself. Dean pulls into the first hotel they find and grabs a room. 

Sam goes straight to his bed and pulls his boots off without a word. He doesn’t pull back the covers, but opts to just lay on top and stare at the wall in silence. Dean opens his mouth to speak, but thinks better of it and heads into the bathroom. He jumps when he looks in the mirror. He’s covered in bruises and dried blood from where Sam hit and clawed him. Dean’s honestly surprised the desk clerk even gave him a room. He turns on the shower, rinsing the blood off and letting the hot water loosen his muscles. He’s constantly tense and knotted up these days, so it doesn’t loosen much. It still feels good though. Complete silence, save for the sound of running water. Just stand still, breathe in, breathe out. Don’t move. Don’t think. After everything that’s happened lately, he enjoys these moments of solitude. He allows himself to not care, to not hurt, for these few moments. When the water starts to run cold, he turns it off and steps out. Pulls on a shirt and boxers before going back into the room. Sam is sitting up on the bed now, watching crappy hotel TV. The rush of steam escaping the open door catches his attention and he jumps when he sees the shape his brother’s in. 

“Holy shit, Dean, what happened to you?” Sam shifts to the edge of his bed, reaching out and pulling him in by his elbow. Dean just rolls his eyes as Sam inspects the scratches. They’re all superficial, and he’s soon released. 

“Nothing. It’s just from the last hunt.” He plops down on his own bed and pointedly watches the tv. 

“It was me, wasn’t it? Earlier with Lucifer. He got to me in the car, and I...” He trails off, lapsing into silence and staring at Dean. His eyes shine and his face is going a little red. The way it does when he’s trying not to cry. 

“It’s nothing, Sammy. It wasn’t your fault.” He casts a quick glance at the other bed. Sam gets out of bed long enough to pull the covers back and get in. He curls up on his side and the slight shaking of his shoulders doesn’t escape Dean. 

He sighs and gets up to turn off the lights and tv. Laying in bed, he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He can’t help Sam. He struggles to cope with Lucifer, but he can’t. It’s a losing battle, but they keep fighting. They’ll always keep fighting. Until the day they die for good, they will fight something trying to kill them. He won’t be able to protect Sam forever, and he can’t even do anything to lessen the hallucinations right now. His problems are beyond Dean’s reach. If he’d been a better brother, taken better care of him, been better... He could have prevented this. He could have found Sam a way out of the cage. He could have left him without a soul until they found a way to patch his soul back up. If he were better, he could have prevented all this. 

Dean is too lost in his thoughts to notice the faint red glow in the corner of the room. But when it suddenly zooms in front of his vision and his entire world fills with the scent of moss and dirt under a heavy weight on his chest... He sure as hell notices then. Unable to move, unable to speak, he can only stare into blood red eyes. Whatever the monster is, it sits there silently for a moment before it feels like everything is pulled out of him and he’s fading into black. Sinking down into the depths. It feels feels peaceful, and part of him would be happy to let go and let himself fall. 

The bed shifts, and he tries to turn and look but doesn’t have the energy. Sam climbs into bed next to him with an embarrassed look on his face. 

“Dean... Just... Please. I need to know you’re alive. That I’m not alone... Let me have this.” With that, he curls up against Dean’s side like he did as a child. He can’t help but feel happy. If he’s going to die, this is how he wants to go. Being a source of comfort for Sam. Protecting him and making him feel safe. Dean’s happier at being this close to Sam than he probably should. With this monster draining everything from him, though, he can’t bring himself to care. He’s going to die happy, and that’s as good as a happily ever after in his book. 

The monster’s eyes flash a little brighter and it screeches in his ear before it flees. He lays there, not sure what to do. What the hell just happened? The monster’s going to town on him one minute, and the next it’s running away? What was it and why did it run away? He thinks about waking Sam up, but he’s shifting in his sleep. Nuzzling in close to Dean and looking more peaceful than he has since the hallucinations started. He can’t bring himself to ruin that, so he just wraps his arms around Sam and hangs on for dear life.

\------------

Dean wakes up to something jostling him and a flash of light in the face. He opens his eyes and looks around before noticing that Sam has somehow managed to wrap himself around him like an octopus. The curtains on the window are open just enough that it’s shining directly in his eyes. He turns away from it and looks back at the bed. Dean vaguely remembers him climbing into bed last night, feeling happy about it, and then the... whatever fled. He stiffens up when he remembers the attack. He starts to get out of bed, but Sam just squeezes and won’t let him go. 

“Hey now, Princess. Rise and shine. Can’t stay in bed forever.” He pats Sam’s arm before disentangling himself and standing up. Sam groans and his eyes flutter open. His face is in the sun, and he squeezes his eyes closed and burrows back into the bedding. A smile plays across Dean’s lips and he closes the window.

“Ugh, do I have to be awake? Yesterday... took a bit out of me. Why am I in your bed?” He’s speaking directly into the pillows, his voice coming out muffled and sleepy. 

“Yes, you have to be awake. C’mon, we gotta get going. I’ll let you take a shower and we’ll get some breakfast first though. But then it’s story-time. I got a doozy.” Dean’s all sarcasm and business in the mornings. But only the mornings where Sam is sleepy. Normally the roles are reversed, but Dean is transported back to childhood on these mornings. Sam just wanting to stay in bed longer, and Dean trying to get him out and to school on time. 

Eventually, they’re both dressed and ready to go. Sam’s hair is still wet from the shower, and he shakes his head like a dog. This results in a very unamused Dean getting splattered in the face a bit. They hit up a diner a few blocks away and Dean goes quiet as Sam stares at him.

“So... You said you had to tell me something. What is it?” He’s cradling a cup of coffee and looking concerned. He’s even pulled out that damned puppy dog look that always makes Dean spill the beans. 

Sighing, Dean looks back at Sam and shrugs. “Maybe it was just a dream, or a night terror or something, but I know I was awake. I was just sitting there, and listening to you cry. You thought I couldn’t see or hear you. But I grew up with you in my pocket, man. I know when you’re upset. I felt like I’d dropped the ball, again, and failed you, again. And then it was like.. I dunno. The thing had these glowing red eyes and sat on my chest and then it felt like it was drinking me through a straw or something. I felt myself falling unconscious, but then you climbed into bed with me and... And that was when the thing ran away. Then I went to sleep.”

“When I was... ah... Yeah, uh... But that’s it? The thing just ran away when I got into bed? What was it?” 

“If I knew that, I wouldn’t be sitting here talking. I’d be out ganking the thing.” Dean rolls his eyes and sits back in the bench, throwing his arm along the top of it. He watches as Sam gives him a look and pulls out his laptop.

“Let’s see what I can find. If nothing else, we can hit up some books later.” And then he’s gone, off to wherever he goes when he’s really into his computer. 

It doesn’t take long for Sam to get some results. He spins the computer around, a page of lore and a painting up. Dean’s blood runs cold and his heart starts racing. He’s staring at the same blood red eyes as last night. Even though it’s just an artist’s depiction, it’s still enough to freak him out a bit. 

“That’s it. Whatever that is, that’s definitely what got me last night.” He’s swallowing roughly, his throat having run dry. 

“It’s a Nocnitsa. Night hag from... Europe. How did you get in the sights of something that far away? Either way, it seems like they sit on your chest at night and drain your life force. Says the only way to defeat one is to just resist it and fight back. It feeds on dark energy, like depression and stuff. Fairly straightforward, I guess.” 

“What do you mean ‘fight back’? Like... With silver, or salt, or what?” Dean’s growing frustrated, and he just wants to get on this thing and end it. He makes an annoyed hiss when Sam shakes his head.

“I think it’s more fight back mentally. This thing feeds on dark energy, right? So you just gotta think happy thoughts, I guess. Work through your ‘darkness’ and cut off its food supply.” He shrugs, flicking his head to get a stray lock of hair out of his eyes. He goes back to his computer and Dean cocks an eyebrow.

“I have to kill the son of a bitch with chick flick moments? Great.” His sarcasm is interrupted by the waitress bringing their food. They eat in silence and leave. 

\------------

Sam lasts until that evening before he can’t help but bring the Nocnitsa up to Dean. “So.. This thing feeds on dark energy. What’s going on, man? And you know I’m not taking ‘nothing’ for an answer. Or your whole ‘We bottle up our emotions and move on’ thing either.” He’s sitting on his bed, idly picking at the comforter. 

“Do we really have to do this, Dr. Phil? Maybe I’ve got some stuff going on. But it’s nothing serious. I can deal with it. Besides, it’s not like we don’t have other shit going on.” Dean’s all sarcasm and thinly-veiled poison. There’s a million things on his “Stuff I’d Rather Be Doing” list, but Sam won’t pay attention to the warning. 

“Jesus, Dean. This IS serious. You’re so angsty and depressed that you attracted a monster from EUROPE. That’s impressive, even for you. And unless you want this thing to kill you, you gotta talk to me about it. We need to work through this. You’re my brother and I’m here for you. You of all people know what I’d do for you. How deep that rabbit hole goes.” Sam trails off, lapsing into silence as Dean falls quiet and still.

“There’s just some things you can’t do for me, Sammy. Now drop it. Let’s go the bar. I need a drink.” He heads toward the door when a pillow smacks him in the back of the head. He turns back towards Sam and finds him standing up, his fists clenched in rage.

“There’s NOTHING I can’t or won’t do for you, asshole. Don’t you DARE say that to me. Not you. Not after I’ve gone to HELL for you. After you sold your soul and went to Hell for me! After everything we’ve sacrificed for each other, you don’t get the right to tell me that there’s something I can’t or won’t do. I’ve got Lucifer in my head all damn day. He uses you against me, you know. You’ve seen how I react. You don’t ask, and I don’t tell. But I know you’re aware of every single time he gets through and torments me. I have him in here because I threw myself in the cage to save you! Because my soul got torn to shreds before Death shoved it back in me. So no. You don’t get to tell me I can’t or won’t do something for you. I’ve made the ultimate sacrifices for you before, and I’m not about to let you kill yourself because you refuse to talk to me!” Sam is shaking, his fists held firmly at his side. He’s acting the way he did as a child. When he’d get so upset at Dean, so angry, but not know how to express it or let it out. So he’d just vibrate from all the tension and eventually cry himself to sleep, soaking the pillow in angry tears. His words have hit a little too close to home, a truth that Dean doesn’t want to face right now. So he closes his eyes, turns away, and walks out the door. 

He’s storming down the street, kicking whatever rocks or garbage stand in his path. Fuck Sam. Fuck his words. Fuck his temper. Fuck his indignation. Just... Fuck him. What was he supposed to say to all that? ‘Oh yes, Sam. You think you’re willing to do anything and everything for me? Why don’t you come here and kiss me, let me hold you at night and fall even deeper in love with you. Sure you’d be real happy about that!’ He stops suddenly. He’d never admitted it to himself, even though he was well aware of his feelings. He was in love with Sam. Even after he said that shit, blaming his hallucinations on Dean, he was still in love with him. Had been for awhile. He wasn’t sure when his feelings had shifted from love to in love, or if it was even a noticeable transition. Maybe it just happened over all those years together. A slow march through time towards this awkward and confusing end. What was he supposed to do with these feelings? He’d tried bottling them up and ignoring them. But they refused to go away. As soon as he shoved one thought down, another sprung up in its place. Like it or not, this was one thing that he was going to have to deal with. One way or another. 

Dean was too lost in his thoughts to notice the pair of glowing red eyes float slowly towards him. It wasn’t until he could feel the weight pressing in all around him and start to feel that draining sensation that he snapped out of it and started running. He may have admitted he needed to face a few things, but he’d be damned if he was gonna face everything right now. He’ll take another round or two with this damn monster first. And so he runs. Runs from the monster, runs from himself, runs from his heart. All the while, the smell of forest and moss and dirt surrounds him and fills him up.


	3. Chapter 3

Sam has a track record of silly ideas, but this one takes the cake. He’s found some ancient spell that’s supposed to let you talk to yourself and access all of your emotions. Even the ones you’ve hidden. It’s a little dangerous, but what isn’t? 

“Just think about it, man. If you do this, you won’t have to talk to me about anything. You just talk to.. yourself. You can figure your own shit out and that’s that. You’d be able to fight back against the Nocnitsa and hopefully kill it.” He’s leaning forward, all enthusiasm over his brilliant idea. He gets a little intense in moments like this, and it’s hard to resist.

“No. Just. No. I’m not gonna go on some voyage of self-discovery and sort through my shit. I’ll handle this my own way, Sammy. And you’re not gonna convince me otherwise.”

\---

Sam convinces him. It takes a lot of puppy dog eyes, a few tears, and the right amount of well-aimed insults. Dean gives in more to shut him up than anything, figuring that not much could go wrong. He knows that it’s Famous Last Words territory, but he doesn’t care. A natural death is not in store for Dean Winchester. He sees no point in worrying over the whys and wherefores of his eventual demise; an attitude that lends itself to a life of hunting. And so he finds himself sitting on the edge of the bed as Sam tosses ingredients into a bowl, says a spell, and pours some concoction into a glass and hands it to Dean. He gives it a tentative sniff and raises an eyebrow at his brother.

“So what... I have to drink this? It smells like a bag of butts, Sam.” His upper lip curls into a grimace as a cheerful bubble breaks the surface of the drink. 

“Stop being a pansy and just... Bottom’s up.” Sam is shuffling around, putting things away and refusing to look at him. 

“If I get heartburn, you’re never cooking for me again.” With that, Dean raises the glass, takes a deep breath, and chugs the contents in one go. The corners of his mouth drop down in contemplation as he waits. It isn’t half bad, actually. Tastes a lot like flat root beer and jeez that worked fast. He’s suddenly in the Impala. An empty stretch of dirt road and an empty field. He figures the spell must have put him to sleep, because he has that comfortable numbness that you feel in dreams. He gets out, shutting the door softly. All around him is silence. Some stars are starting to twinkle and shine in the soft purple sky. As he looks around, a glint in the middle of the field catches his eye and he makes his way towards it. As he gets closer, he realizes it’s a person. A small boy, maybe 11 or 12, sits on the ground polishing a gleaming gun. As Dean approaches, he turns and looks over his shoulder. 

“I was wondering when you’d show up. Only been trying to get your attention for a couple years now.” A soft smile and he stands up. Dean recognizes him instantly. It’s.. himself. Dinky Dean, but Dean all the same.

"Who are you and why are you me?” He’s standing stock-still, trying to take in as much detail as he can. He needs to assess this situation. The vision of himself smiles again; a full, very amused grin. He spreads his now-empty hands in a gesture of peace.

"Relax, Dean. I'm you. Part of you, anyway. I'm your soul. And we need to talk. First of all, you gotta hand it to Sam. Either he's very lucky or very sneaky. The spell he used was only supposed to let me send some messages to you. But some African dream root got thrown in, so I was able to come in person. You see, normally souls live in another plane of existence. We really only have a very narrow connection with the body at any given time. It's sorta like how angels have vessels because their true form... melts your eyeballs and kinda blows your ears up. You have access to everything we are, you just gotta know how to ask for the special stuff." His soul stands there, a small smile playing across his lips. Dean is freaked the fuck out by everything but damned if he's gonna show it. He nods a few times in response.

"How do I know you're not some monster I gotta gank? You may be looking like me, but I don't mind killing myself." Dean is all intimidation now. He sits down across from his younger self, but keeps himself ramrod straight and coiled tight like a spring. 

"Well, that'd be fitting, wouldn't it? If I weren't some integral, deep seated part of you, how would I know everything about you? How would I know that for one, you’re in love with Sam but don’t have the balls to tell him. Or that part of you, a big part, doesn’t even want to fight the Nocnitsa. You’re a smart guy, Dean. You know the only way to beat this thing is to fight back. But that means being happy, and you don’t feel like you deserve it. Dad always told you to take care of Sammy. Watch out for Sammy. And you’ve failed. Or you feel like it anyway. Last I checked, he’s still kicking. You wouldn’t have been able to keep him out of harm’s way forever, and you know it. If you always kept him physically safe, you’d leave emotional scars from that kind of helicoptering. You had to find a balance between keeping him physically safe, but still letting him be his own person. And that means he’ll get hurt now and then. You’ve done an amazing job of raising him, but you don’t know how to let yourself be proud of that. Instead of saying “Look at what I did right” you’ve conditioned yourself to say “See what I fucked up?” And that’s your problem, Dean. Not everything is your fault. Not everything bad that happens is because of you. You don’t deserve everything bad that happens. Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know. You feel like if you were worthy of good things, good things would happen to you. But they don’t happen, so you obviously don’t deserve them. It’s just logic, right? Wrong. Your logic is stupid. YOU are stupid.” He starts plucking at blades of grass, turning his attention away from a seething and confused Dean. 

“Now, look here, you little shit. Let’s assume that you really are my soul. First off, why the hell do you guys exist ON ANOTHER FUCKING PLANE? You’re too good for our stinky ass meat suits? And secondly, who the hell do you think you are? I’ve got a perfectly good handle on my situation, thank you very much. I’ve gotten by just fine so far. I am NOT in love with Sam. We’re just.. complicated. If you know me this well, if you really are my soul, then you know the story. I’ve been taking care of him his entire life. I was his first word. His first steps were towards me. I was there for every nightmare, every scratch and scrape. When he got old enough, I fucking explained what pubes were! Half the time I feel like his brother, the other half I feel like a parent. So yeah, things are complicated and we’re maybe a little more tangled up in each other than is necessary, but you know what? Look at our life. Motel room after motel room after monster chase after monster chase. We never stuck around anywhere long enough to make friends. I was his everything and he was my everything. But that doesn’t mean I’m in love with him. How fucked up would that be, anyway? I’m his brother, but his parent. And then not only his brother and parent, but boyfriend? What the hell? I’m fucked up in the head. Man, I’ll be the first to admit that I got issues out the wazoo. But I’m not that fucked up. I won’t let myself be.” 

His soul gives him a sad smile. “Are you even listening to yourself? You all but agreed with me. ‘Gotten by just fine’, ‘I won’t let myself be’. C’mon, Dean. The lady doth protest too much. Just pay attention, would you?” Dean gives him a cautious sideways look. 

“I’m just saying. I’m not in love with my brother. I love him. But I’m not IN love with him.” There’s a touch of petulance to his voice, and his soul just shakes his head. 

“Whatever you say, man. Anyway, I got a little ahead of myself. All I came here to say is that you have got to man up. If you’re gonna get this Nocnitsa off your ass, you gotta starve the bitch. Get over yourself, lighten the hell up, and own up to your feelings. You and Sam both spent all of your formative years together. You’ve only ever had each other, so you’ve been every role to each other. Parent, sibling, friend, and now, lover. I don’t see why you humans are so upset over incest anyway. The bible’s full of it, if you haven’t noticed.” 

Dean purses his lips and looks to the side, muttering under his breath. His soul rolls his eyes and leans forward.

“What was that? Couldn’t quite hear you?” He sits back, eyes wide, as Dean snaps his attention forward. His eyes, red around the rims, narrow and his voice is still almost unintelligible in it’s softness. 

“I don’t DESERVE happiness.” 

In that moment, he slides into wakefulness. Sam is reading a book next to him on the bed, his outstretched leg pressed again Dean’s shoulder. Dean looks up at him momentarily before rolling over and sobbing against his brother’s leg.


End file.
